


Five Times the Avengers helped Fitz, and One Time Fitz Helped an Avenger

by gwmclintock88



Series: Live Grenades [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwmclintock88/pseuds/gwmclintock88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz is safe. He's told by his team (really? he has a team) that's all that really matters, but to him, that's not enough. Being safe isn't enough. Right now, returning to his previous status (and abilities) is his only concern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watched Over by Captain America

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fourth in my 'Live Grenades' series. You don't have to read the others in the series, but it may help. 
> 
> I own nothing, except the plot. Also, this plot has so little chance of happening, but I won't stop enjoying it.

            Things were black, then blurry, then black-blurry, then colored blurry, followed by way too bright.

            He tried blinking in a slow, methodical manner, controlling the one set of functions he had at the moment.  Everything felt heavy, dragging him down. His lungs, his limbs, his brain slunk along the surface he lay upon.

            “Looks like someone is coming back to us,” an unfamiliar voice said.

            “Wha-huh?”  

            “Easy there, easy there. The docs are coming.” A large, but light pressure covered his hand.  Increased beeping filled the void as he climbed back from the fog. “Hey, hey, relax.”  Blinking, he tried to focus on something other than the bright lights above him.

            “Where…where am I?” He struggled to force the words off his heavy tongue.

            “In a hospital. Fitz, it’s alright.” Fitz – that was his name. No, wait, his surname. Leo Fitz was his full name. He was Leo Fitz.

            The stranger knew him, spoke his name as if they were friends. But, who was he? He…he remembered a father-like figure, looking out for them, for her. A brother who…who betrayed them. And someone who stepped into what he thought was a closed system. This man, this stranger was not any of those. How he knew this, he couldn’t find the words…couldn’t find the connections. He just knew it. Like he knew his name was Leo Fitz.

            It was silent, except for the rather loud beeping of machines, connected to him? Yes, his heart thudded along with the beeps,  finally slowing down as the world seemed to come back into focus, even just a little. He shook his head, trying to will some strength back into it.

            He remembered a small room, and darkness. Lots of darkness.  Talking with someone, a girl, about…about life and death. They were…trapped, underwater. Left for dead by the one who betrayed them. There was a lot of pain, both…physical and emotional. He remembered talking to the girl about the first law of thermodynamics, but he couldn’t recall the law.

            “Fitz,” a familiar voice released the word as a sigh. Of relief?

            “I’ll leave you two,” the stranger said. The large hand patted his own twice before removing the pressure.  “Jemma,” the stranger knew her too, “remember what I said.” Jemma, he knew her, the voice, she was his…best thing. The thing he fought for, worked for, she was his tether to the world. His best friend.  Was she the girl from the room?

            “I slept for four hours last night, and Skye made sure I ate some dreadful cereal for breakfast.” The stranger laughed, the voice directed away from him and moving away.  Skye…he knew that name…knew the description, but the name, the name was spelled differently and he knew it was important. But he couldn’t…

            He couldn’t recall the law. What was that law about? He tried to shake his head, trying to let the law come rushing back. Just like the pressure rushed over them….the girl. She dragged him out of that room when -

            “Ssshh.” The familiar voiced – Jemma - tried to comfort him, hands on his shoulder. “Fitz, I’m here.”

            “Hey, relax.” The large hand was back. A large hand attached to a stranger. “It’s alright.”

            “What…what…” He knew the words, their meaning, their order. But the…words…

            “Fitz,” Jemma cried his name. Her hands held onto him, grounding him.

            “What...what…”

            “You were trapped underwater. In the middle of the ocean,” said the stranger. “You saved her Fitz. You saved her.”

            “She’s…she’s okay?”

            “Yes. Yes, Fitz,” the small hands squeezed his arm. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

            “Okay? She’s…”  He shook his head, the pain settling somewhere behind his eyes. As the words came out, the brightness ebbed away, the fog left, and he finally could see.  Kind of.  Everything still was blurry. Even without the fog, things were blurry.

            “Oh Fitz.” Slender fingers brushed just beneath his eyes.  “I’m here. You saved me, Fitz. You saved me.”

            “Big damn hero,” the stranger said. For some reason, he laughed. Or tried to. It came out choking, clogged. Someone put something against his lips and a cool liquid – water - dribbled into his mouth. It eased him, grounded him and pulled him back from coughing.

            “Yes, yes you are.” Whatever he was lying on, shifted under the weight of something, of someone. “You got me out of there. Made it so we could get out of there.”  Somewhere beyond the two people, beyond Jemma and this stranger, there was a rush of feet.

            “What…what hap-hap-happens now?” His vision cleared enough to finally look at the eyes of Jemma. She beamed down at him, like an angel.

            “Now, you just get better. You got through the hard stuff,” the stranger said. He stood over Jemma’s shoulder, smiling as well. The man was huge, blocking the lights around him and Jemma.  “I’ll let the others know.”

            “Thank you Steve.” She glanced up at the man, only for a moment before returning to look at him. Her smile never wavered as she settled on the bed. She held his hand in both of hers, two fingers on his pulse.

            “Fitz,” the man – Steve said in goodbye.

            “Hey,” Jemma’s voice dragged him away from watching the stranger leave the room.

            “Who…who was that?”  He managed to get it out. She removed one of her hands to grab a cup. Putting it to his lips, the liquid parched his throat, chasing the dryness.

            “That was Captain America,” she said.  He stared at her, blinking trying to call up the images of a shield, of red, white, and blue, and of the Second Great War.  “He offered to sit with you for a bit.”           

            “Captain America.” He repeated the name, trying to match the images with the man in this…room. Fitz was in a room somewhere, when the last thing he remembered was a dark room with walls pressing down on them.

            “It’s okay Fitz. Everything is going to be okay.” For the first time since he could see her face, her smile wavered.

            Even as others rushed in, faces he couldn’t place with names he couldn’t recall, he knew she was lying. Knew it like a fact of the world: Jemma Simmons couldn’t lie.

            Everything was not going to be okay.


	2. Taught Normalcy by Hawkeye

            Fitz stared at the set of weights left by his physical therapist. Evil, heavy…things trying to make him stronger than before, not that it would really make a difference. From what he figured out from the others, the flashcards Jemma and Skye gave him, and from the set of fracture memories he now possessed, Leo Fitz was not a field agent.

            “Grab a jacket.” Fitz turned in his seat. A short-ish man (certainly not as tall as Steve) stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he watched him.

            “What?” Fitz flipped through the flashcards, well not literally – that would be too dependent on them and he wouldn’t let anyone see him using those (or the hours he spent each night trying to match them with memories he gathered from the fog).

            “This is jailbreak. You and me, we’re getting’ out of here.” A wide grin grew on the man’s – Clint Barton’s – face as he stepped in to the room. “Staring at the same four walls isn’t going to help you.”

            “Why…where are going to go?” Fitz slide off the bed, using it to hold some of his wait as he adjusted to the floor.

            “You have some shoes?” Clint moved toward the bed, glancing around at the Spartan living conditions, or at least, they felt Spartan. He didn’t have much here, not that Jemma said any of them did, but they restricted what he could have to prevent any more ‘episodes.’

            (An episode usually involved him throwing something at the wall, television, or a person if they were there. He got frustrated, angry, or even just depressed. Now, they didn’t leave him with much, which made his physical therapist leaving the heavy weights confusing.)

            “Right here,” Fitz said. He slipped on the pair of shoes, glaring at them for a moment before looking up at Clint. The man also was glaring at the laceless shoes.

            “We’re going to get you some laces while we’re out,” Clint said, finally looking up at him. “Ready?”

            “Where are we going?” Fitz stumbled out of the room, silently tripping over his own feet and thanking Clint for not offering his arm or assistance.

            “We’re going to grab some pizza. They have that in England, right?”

            “Yeah, of course, but why…?”

            “Relax, just messy with you,” Clint lightly punched his shoulder as he navigated them through the maze of hallways to an elevator. “Spent more than my fair share in a room like that. Recovering and what not. You go stir crazy after a while.”

            “Weren’t we…where are we?”  The lift moved vertical, carrying them downward.

            “They really kept you cloistered?” Clint shook his head at him before turning to face the doors. “We’re in New York, well, specifically in Stark Tower. Somehow, Captain managed to convince Coulson it would be a better move. Really put a damper on Fury’s and that caretaker’s…Billy’s plans.”

            “I…I don’t remember,” Fitz admitted. His ears burned a little at the statement.

            “Yeah, comas can do that too,” Clint said. Fitz stared at the man, trying to figure out what he meant. It didn’t take long for Clint to start fill in the gaps. “I remember this one mission, had to carry my ass and Natasha’s – though she’d say otherwise – out of this hell hole in the middle of Turkestan. I got us back here, but the concussion made me miss the Super Bowl, Stanley Cup, and most of the NBA finals.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t really care, but Natasha lives to have one up on you and then goad you. Remember, that, don’t give her any more ammo: She’ll find enough on her own.” Clint pointed his finger at him in emphasis, but Fitz still struggled to follow along.

            The elevator stopped on a garage level, lined with series of cars. He didn’t recognize most of the models, but expensive seemed to be the common theme throughout the layout. Except for one, beat-up, red Dodge Challenger at the end. Clint directed them toward it, walking slower to keep pace with him. 

            “Now, I figure we’ve got about half an hour before your next shift checks up on you, less if someone asks Jarvis.”  Clint unlocked his side of the vehicle manually, before unlocking his door.

            “Why are we doing this?” Fitz’s fingers fumbled with the door handle. He got it, it just took a second. The tension in his body released itself as he settled into the seat.  Again, the man said nothing. He just turned the car on, then the radio to some classic rock station.

            The music filtered through old speakers, meshing into the sounds of traffic and people _being_ on the streets. He aimlessly observed the strangers on the streets, walking about like not three months ago (was it really three months?) large technological marvels crashed into what should have been the single most secure place on the planet.  He could remember that much at least, and the big events that followed. But the small things, questions like why Clint had quiver of arrows in the backseat, still bugged him.

            “We’re here.” Clint’s words broke him out of the daze. He wasn’t even sure how long they rode for.

            “Huh?” It was a pizza place, stuck in the middle between a convenience market and a barber shop.

            “I’ve got a place, just around the corner. Stop in here when I get a chance, to unwind, you know?” Clint said as he slipped out of the car. “I figured you could use the same.”

            “Is this okay?” Fitz asked, stepping out of the car.

            “Probably not,” Clint said. “Like I said, they’re going to check up on you and wonder where you are. You don’t have your phone with you, so they can’t track that. But eventually, they’re going to panic and come racing over here. So before that happens, lets grab a slice and a beer.”

            “Beer? Yeah, that sounds great,” Fitz said. He was almost certain alcohol wasn’t part of his prescribed diet, and would likely react badly with some of the medication he was being given. But at this moment, this was a choice, he could make it and live with it.

            He followed Clint into the pub. Everyone, all four of them, looked up at them as they entered but returned to their glasses and mugs quickly. Nothing really interesting about them, which was kind of nice, being ignored and thought of as normal. He certainly hadn’t felt that for a while. Or ever.

            “They’ll bring us out a pie and a couple of beers,” Clint said. He led them to a table in the back, and sat to face outward toward the doorway.

            “You come here often then?” Fitz took a sit, slouching a little as his shoulders curled a bit.

            “Enough. I usually bring my dog, but he’s off in LA with a friend.” Clint shrugged his shoulders,  and leaned back in his chair. A waitress stopped by, dropping off their beers from a brewery Fitz didn’t recognize. 

            He reached out, enjoying the feel of the icy bottle in his hand. The slick paper contrasted with the smoothness of the glass and for a moment, he just enjoyed the sensations. Lifting the bottle from the table, he silently toasted Clint before taking a sip. The amber liquid had a citrus flavor to it, going down smoothly.

            “Yeah, I did need that,” he said, finally relaxing a bit.

            “Like I said, I’ve been where you are right now,” Clint said. “Recovery sucks, not the time off or anything, but the rules, regulations and the babying. Sometimes, you need a break from it all.” Fitz nodded, taking another sip over responding. “I lost my hearing at one point.”

            “What?” Fitz paused, his drink hanging mid-air.

            “It’s barely in the records, but I bet your hacker friend could find it,” Clint said. Despite his relaxed appearance, even Fitz noticed the disheartened reflection in the man’s eyes. “One bad mission with ultrasounds, and I’m stuck with muffled music. I spent most of my twenties tied to a hearing aid. Eventually, they figured out a way to regenerate the loss, repair the bones I think, but I had to live with it.” He stopped speaking, letting the waitress drop off their pizza, plain cheese it looked like, and their cutlery. She gave them a smile, lasting longer on Clint before sauntering off back to the bar. Clint grabs a slice, motioning for Fitz to do the same. He begins to wolf it down, having folded in half to manage the size. Fitz grabbed on and slid it onto his plate. They sit in minimal noise, the only sound of their motions and eating. It was…comforting to enjoy something so normal.  Just when he thought Clint wouldn’t continue (what he wasn’t sure yet, but the man seemed to have some direction he was working toward)

            “This line of work, it can take a lot out of us. It can take that last full measure, and we may not even know it,” Clint said. “We play with the big boys, you know. So we have to do our best, even when we’re hurt. Not to fix our faults, but to exceed our strengths.

            “I mean, I can’t miss…I’m on a team with super-humans. And one god, for those keeping track with the home game. I…I gave up a lot for this life. I could have been happy, been normal. Had a good simple life. But I wanted to run with the big dogs. And if I miss, it means I’m just another dude with a bow. It means I’ve been fooling myself this whole time. And that’s why I never miss.” He finished his beer in one swig, slamming it onto the table. The sudden clatter startled Fitz. “I’ve got to hit the head.”

            Clint stood from their table, moving toward what Fitz presumed was the bathroom.  On the way, he signaled for another round before disappearing behind the door, leaving Fitz to his thoughts. He returned to his pizza, picking at it as he attempted to reconcile everything that happened with Clint’s soliloquy.

            Fitz’s earliest memory, even with this perpetual fog, remained of building a working engine out of Legos. It startled his mother, but even through her difficulties of raising a gifted son, she encouraged him, loved him. His biggest fan before he met Simmons. His mother told him he could do anything, but if he did something, he had to do it right. Even if he failed, he still needed to try and do it the right way. “Failure was just God’s way of saying you haven’t figure it out yet” she used to say. But failing always sat wrong with him, so he never did.

            For the first time, Fitz realized he faced a life of failure. His brain, the one thing he trusted for so long, unsuccessful rebooted. That left him really with one option: to rewrite the code.

            “He does that.” Fitz nearly dropped the beer in his hand, letting out a man-ish yelp as a strikingly attractive red-head sat down in Clint’s seat.

            “What….who?”  It took him a moment, several actually, to connect the red hair and face with the flashcard for Natasha Romanov, Clint’s partner. “We’re not in trouble, are we?” He twisted the empty beer in his hand, even as Natasha took one of the full ones on the table.

            “No, well, Clint might be, but Steve’s just worried because Simmons is worried,” Natasha said, smirking slightly. “But, don’t worry about it.  Clint figured you’d need a break from everything.”

            “He talked to you about it?” Fitz asked.

            “No, but we’re partners, like you and Simmons.” Natasha leaned forward, appraising him. He shifted in his seat, trying to avoid making eye contact. “Well, maybe not exactly like us. More like Bucky and Steve than.” She spoke easily, like she hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere and sit down at their table.  

            Fitz loved Simmons, she was his entire world. Or at least had been until he went into the field. Now, things changed and he still loved her. Before he thought he was going to die, he wanted her to know that.  They didn’t talk about it, but things really hadn’t changed too much between them. He liked the consistency, and well, maybe it wasn’t the love-of-his-life (or some foolishness) love he felt for her, but he loved her nevertheless.

            “Does that mean that you two…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

            “Do the horizontal mambo?” Clint asked. Fitz blushed at the crass description, playing with the label of his beer to distract him.  Once again, the agent appeared out of nowhere; though given that they both were agents in SHIELD and on the Avengers, their sneakiness likely played a vital role.

            “That,” Natasha said, “and other things.”  Clint sat in the open seat, sliding another piece of pizza onto his plate, only for Natasha to steal it. He groaned, grabbing the remaining plate to serve himself again. Natasha took a bit, a smug look gracing her features.

            “The point, kid, is sometimes, things got to pot. The best you can hope for is to come out with all your limbs in tack,” Clint said.

            “But I’m not a field agent, I work...worked in the labs.”

            “So, then stop worrying about getting up to snuff in the field. Worry about getting back into that lab.” Clint took a large bit of the pizza, holding off any more of the conversation. Natasha used the cutlery, cutting the pizza into smaller bits.

            “That’s not how you eat pizza, unless you have the _right_ pizza.” Clint glared at her, speaking like they’d had this conversation before.

            “It pisses you off, right?” Natasha raised an eyebrow as she lifted a piece of pizza with her fork to take a bit.

            “This is what you have to be careful about, kid, getting with someone that knows your buttons.” He frowned again, but Fitz saw the mocking behind it. “Finish your beer, we’re going to get it when we get back, me more than you, so at least enjoy it.”

            “I am,” Fitz said. He grabbed the full one left on the table, relaxing – finally – as Natasha continued her campaign to bother Clint by supposedly eating pizza the wrong way.  This felt normal, and maybe things wouldn’t ever get back to the normal he had before, but a new one, shaped by living through the last few hellish months (not counting the ones he slept through), offered a chance to get back to relying on what he always did: his brain.

Constants and variables. That’s all life was, constants and variables.  He may not know the variables, but right now, his constants remained stable. The rest, he’d worry about. After pizza and beer of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm not thrilled with this (I like it, I'm not sure I hate the spots I wanted to with perfect execution), and really, I was going to keep it to one Avenger per chapter, but the thing is...Natasha is kind of a bad-ass. I mean, really, she couldn't help but walk her way into the scene.
> 
> Also, if you have the chance, read Matt Fraction's Hawkeye series. Probably one of my favorite comics on the market at the moment.


	3. Working for the Falcon

            The more time Fitz spent in the lab, the more frustrated he got. Not because he couldn’t do anything, but no one would let him. It took a week of begging to do something, and some coercion from Clint (maybe Natasha too), to let him back into the lab.  But no one would leave him alone.

Simmons and Skye hovered, all the time. Coulson checked in on him and Tripplet made sure Fitz reported his location every few hours. Even when in the lab. He never ventured far from either his room or the lab, but still they had to check up on him. Hell, JARVIS (that magnificent marvel of technology) could do the job for them.

At least they weren’t at the Playground. Not that he minded secret bases or anything, but being above ground, watching the sky change from day to night (sometimes all he could do with the lack of work they provided) offered him a sense of peace.  Sleep certainly couldn’t offer it and he could use work either.

“Hey.” Fitz turned from the schematics on the table to the source of the voice. Sam Wilson strode into the room, a rucksack with metal bits hanging of one of his shoulders. Fitz knew the man only when he stopped by with Steve.  

“Mister Wilson, what are you doing up here?” Fitz asked.

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before, huh.” The man walked forward to toss the rucksack onto the lab table. “Sam’s fine.”

“Sam,” Fitz said. He stared at the man for a moment, as if to test the name. Really, it was to match the name to the face, helping increase the chances of long-term memory encoding. Either Sam didn’t care that Fitz stared at him or understood what he was trying to do. Both were acceptable, and put him at ease. Slightly.

“Think you could do me a favor?” He motioned toward the rucksack. Fitz nodded, moving toward it.

Inside there were various broken and bent pieces of metal. He made out the mechanical joints, what was probably had been a set of engines at one point, as well as broken and loose circuitry.  He pushed around the pieces, careful to not cut himself. He really didn’t need to hear another lecture from Jemma about lab safety.  Especially since he wasn’t the one who seemed to have issues with bacteria or viruses.

“I kind of broke it.”

Fitz dumped the contents on to the table. “Broke it? I’m not sure there isn’t a piece here that isn’t intact.”  He pushed osme around, trying to match pieces here and there. “It’d be almost better to start from scratch.”

“Yeah, I kind of thought you’d say that.” Sam slumped a little, but the man was still smiling. “Took too big of a hit on the last base we went after.”

Fitz began to sort the pieces, vaguely listening as he talked to himself. “How’d you bloody survive?”  He looked up at Sam, holding a finger to stop him from commenting. “Wait, don’t tell me: Captain America.”

“Well…” Sam shrugged his shoulders, a smirk forming on his lips.  He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, even as he began to sort the pieces. “Seems the suit wasn’t really designed for walls. Or going through roofs. And floors.”

“No, it would seem not.” He tapped a piece with his pen and ignored the slight twinge to his almost fully healed arm. “Hmmm…” Staring at the pieces, he found the breaks and flaws

“Think you can take a look at it?”  Sam’s face fell into a honest, but hopeful look. “Heard you know a thing or two about fixing stuff.”

            “I did…”  Before he even had a chance to decline the offer or at least tell him to go bother Stark, Sam spoke up again.

            “Well, let me know how it goes.” Sam patted him on the back before heading out of the lab.

            Fitz let out a sigh. Everything looked like different pieces to different puzzles.  He shuffled the pieces around.  Things were connecting, but they weren’t, held together by wires and broken joints.  He picked up one part that had to be a part of a wing.

            All the pieces lay upon the table. With a piece of the wing in his hand, he started trying to make the puzzle fit. To make the pieces work again.  Turning it over and over again in his hands and in his mind, he looked at where the connections were, where the breaks occurred, and where the pieces fit. Picking up another piece then another, he slowly began to sort them into some semblance of the original system.  Once they were sorted, he began to catalog the breaks, tears, and cracks in every part.  Most of the parts were beyond functional use, but once sorted, cataloged, and analyzed, he began to construct it.

None of this was written down of course but JARVIS was undoubtedly watching him still – even if Simmons and Skye weren’t.  He would ask Stark’s permission to order new parts first, but it certainly seemed plausible to reconstruct it, if not replace some of the items.  Some of the hardware could be saved, he’d have to review the software and firmware before -

            “Fitz?” Fitz felt the bottom of his thoughts drop away from him. He looked up from the table to see Simmons standing in the doorway, staring at him. “Are you okay?”

            He tried to keep his body still, not let the agitation out of his frame. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

            “You missed dinner.”

            Fitz finally looked up at the windows surrounding the lab. “Oh.” The sun set long ago, with the darkness creeping in around the lab. The glow from the lab table surrounded the broken wings. He managed to at least reassemble the image of the device, but not everything.  “I’m sorry…I just – I got distracted and I - ”

            He never finished the sentence. Simmons threw her arms around him, startling him with the hug.  He flailed at bit, falling against the table for a moment before recovering with what little balance he had.  She whispered something, repeating it over and over again. He couldn’t make it out, not with his head still swimming a bit at it tried to get out fog he’d been in since he woke up. Well, maybe this was a different fog. A familiar one.”

            “It’s going to be okay.”  She kept saying into his neck. “It’s going to be okay.”

            “What’s going to be okay?” He finally asked after a few tense, awkward minutes.  

            “You are. You’re going to be okay.” He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. Things still weren’t coming back together, not completely.  “I was…it was wrong to not give you something to do.” She stepped back, smiling through watery eyes.

            “I’m not doing anything,” said Fitz.  He waved his hand at the table. “Sam just asked me to take a look at it.”

            “Fitz,” she said. Her voice was full of affection as she stared at him. She cut herself of from saying off something with a sigh. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.” He tilted his head, trying to figure out what she wanted to say.

            “Okay.” He drew out the word. “But I can keep working on it?”

            “Of course Fitz,” Simmons said. “Tomorrow. You can start back up tomorrow.” She reached around him and tapped something on the table. The light died, leaving just the doorway illuminating the lab. She walked away, letting him follow at his own pace.

            “Did you know?” Fitz asked. “That this would help?”

            “Steve said something about it to me. Well, he talked about it to Wilson first, then told me.”

            “Better to ask for forgiveness than seek permission?” Simmons nodded at the question.

            “I wasn’t happy, but well, he was right. What do you think?”

            Fitz shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t like the idea of other people talking about him, but today had been a good day. One of the few he had since waking up and everything was jumbled, foggy, and just difficult.  “I think I could actually think.”  This seemed to be the right thing to admit, as Simmons appeared even happier if that was possible.  “So, I can keep working on it then?”

            “Yeah, well, after we eat and sleep. Steve was insistent upon a regular eating schedule and well, Coulson couldn’t say no.”  He nodded, still trying to figure out why Captain Rogers would be insisting upon anything for them.

Fitz glanced at Simmons, watching the way she lit up a bit at discussing an argument between Skye and Rogers about a television show.  They never were really good at identify when others liked them or were crushing on them, which made for an awkward conversation he had yet to have with her.

            For now, he went along with it, gathering data on the changes that happened while he slept. Maybe he’d make sense of everything before he had to talk to Simmons about it.


	4. Physical Therapy with the Black Widow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this chapter. It was there, waiting to be written, waiting for me to work on it, but other things took up my time. 
> 
> I am back on this story and hope to finish it within the next month. This chapter definitely was the hardest to write, and with the new season of Agents of SHIELD, changed the most. I am now going to be incorporating some of the things from the new season within this story. It shouldn't change too much now, but it will change the directions I am taking it. 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. Enjoy

            No one says no to Natasha.  Not even when she ‘asks’ to take over your physical therapy and doesn’t tell you what she had planned for you. Fitz understood the not saying ‘no’ – Clint warned him about it during one of their pizza excursions. But he still struggled to understand how she could help him with physical therapy.

            Natasha found him working in a lab set up for him and Simmons. After completely constructing and re-wiring the wings, he watched Sam fly off the roof of the tower without a hint of fear or trepidation. For Fitz, the emotions nearly encompassed him as he watched Sam freefall before the wings unfurled and he curled up to head toward the sun. The wax didn’t melt, and Fitz’s heart settled back down. Now, with the adulation of everyone, even Stark, for that success, he was given more freedom and left to work with Simmons back in the lab.

            But success still didn’t excuse him from PT.

            “Come on,” Natasha said.

Fitz jumped, dropping the screwdriver onto the table. He peered through magnifying lens like they were glasses, wide eyes appearing even wider. “What?”

            She appeared somehow in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “PT. Now.” He fumbled with the lens, dropping them onto the table.

            “I-I-I don’t-I’m not dressed for it.” He walked/stumbled over to the doorway. Natasha caught his arm before he could fault onto his face. He ignored that little mental sign that kept telling him to be aware, be safe. Natasha wouldn’t hurt him, none of them would. He kept reminding himself of that as they walked.

            Natasha began to lead him to ward the elevator, holding his arm to keep him up right. “You’ve got shoes on.” He glanced down at his feet, nearly tripping again, but she kept him upright again. “That’s good enough for today.”

            That was the last time she spoke, at least until they got off the elevator.  They came out on some numberless floor, with series of doors along the hallway.  She tugged on his arm, pulling him left down the hallway.

            “Where are we going?”  She stopped in front of door.

            “Here.”

            Behind the door, the sun shone across a hard-wood floor, reflecting the light and nearly blinding him. Natasha walked into the light, disappearing for the moments it took for his eyes to adjust.  Blinking, he reached out for the door frame – only to meet a hand.

            “Fitz!” As he finally adjusted to the light, Simmons pulled him all the way through the doorway. He stumbled again, bumping into her.

            “What? What’s happening?” Mirrors covered the wall he walked through only breaking for the doorway. Everything else was absent from the room, except from Simmons, Skye, and Natasha.

            The signal seemed louder, stronger. It pulled at him as he tried to process everything at once. What little there was to process, but it still was coming in too quickly, in too many flashes.

            “You’ll see,” Natasha said. “We’re just waiting on one more.” Skye came over to his side, smiling at him as if on the joke.

            “Who? And what are we…I thought this was my physical therapy?”  

            Captain Rogers stuck his head in the door, smiling at all of them for a moment before stepping always the way through the doorway. “Sorry. I thought they labelled the doors.”

            “They did,” Natasha said, “I removed them.”

            The pressure he felt since ‘waking up’ began to build again. Not much, but enough to bother him. He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms in a self-hug.  Narrow the focus, narrow the access. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, like his therapist taught him to do.  Two set of small hands grabbed him jarring him from his unsuccessful comfort.

            “Fitz.” A familiar calm voice said. “We’re here. It’s okay.”

            “Fitz.” The other voice repeated it in a slightly rougher, a little lower tone. “Hey, come on.”

            They kept talking, and talking. He couldn’t concentrate on it, on his breathing. Their voices broke through his shield, but not to overrun him. As he struggled to grab onto his own thoughts, he felt their voices reaching out to him. Trying to hold him close, and prevent him from slipping away. He wanted to reach out to them too. He commanded his hands to relax, to drop their grip on his elbows. He wanted to extend his hands, and pick up the strings they offered to him.

            Eventually, after what seemed like forever, he found himself coming back to the surface. The soft hands held him close to the voices. He dragged himself back to the light, which wasn’t so bright. Back to the room, which didn’t seem so big or so odd.

            “I’m okay.” Fitz finally forced the words out. “I-I-I’m fine.”

            “Of course you are Fitz.” Simmons came back into focus, standing next to him and holding onto his arm. She gave his arm a squeeze then stepped back. Skye copied her, taking a step back from his other side. “We just…”

            “This will happen,” Natasha said from a corner. She must have slithered over there some time during his freak out.

            “Happened to me.”  Everyone turned to look at Rogers. He stood off from them, trying to give him a little privacy in the mirrored room. “And it does get better.”

            “You…? I…but…” Fitz struggled with the words as he came back from his panic. He took a deep breath, and another. Then another.

            “We can talk later about it if you want,” Rogers offered. He gave them a sheepish smile as he stepped closer. He said, “I think Natasha has plans for us right now.”

            “Correct. Today’s lesson is on dancing.” To his surprise, both Skye and Rogers groaned, though Rogers’ face flushed.

            He remembered, or thought he remembered, moments of dancing and learning it through public school classes. His mother thought it would help him with other children, but he quickly dropped the classes in favor of more time spent either in the laboratory or at a computer. He still remembered them, and certainly didn’t understand what it would do for his physical therapy.  Or why the others were here. Well, you did need a partner to dance with, explaining why the others were here, but that only returned him to the first question. He wasn’t sure how it was going to help him out, not with everything else wrong with him. His feet worked fine, most of the time. Why dancing?

            Natasha stepped around them, calculating something as she walked to the center of the room. She said, “now, Fitz, Rogers, over here.”  Captain America immediately followed the order, but Fitz stood still. He struggled to understand what was happening. Jemma gently pushed him toward Rogers and Natasha. He glared at her as he stepped closer.

            Natasha grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him to the position she wanted. He now stood facing the mirror, several meters away from Rogers. “Ladies.” Simmons immediately moved in front of him as Skye walked to Rogers. The two of them were blushing, but he found Simmons to keep glancing over at them.

            Natasha circled them, calculating something. He felt like animal being watched by a predator. She finally stopped in front of them, making eye contact with him for a second before looking at Rogers. “Boys, one hand up, and one on the ladies’ waist.”

            “Come on Fitz,” Simmons said. He rushed to comply, even as Rogers stooped a little to whisper something to Skye. The hacker nodded, and Rogers followed the directions as well as a moment later.

            “Ladies, put your hand in theirs and the other on his shoulder.” Natasha kept circling around them, glaring at them. Simmons followed the directions, giving him a shaky smile. Her hand felt clammy in his, but he wondered if that was because his hand was sweating or hers.

            Skye seemed more than happy to touch Rogers, smiling widely as she reached up to take his hand. He remained blushing, but seemed to ease a little into the situation.

            “Remain looking at your partner.” Fitz snapped his gaze back to Simmons, finding her quickly meeting his eyes as well from watching the other two.

            The dancing came swiftly, falling into a routine of Natasha barking orders at them and stumbling over his feet. He knew the commands, understood and ordered his legs to follow them, but at times, they disregarded or ignored those orders, choosing either to not do anything or go in the other direction. Simmons took each misstep in stride, compensating slightly so he didn’t make them fall or trip over their feet.

            Rogers and Skye seemed to have similar success, if the giggles from that side of the room indicated appropriate data points.  Rogers would miss step, apologize, and then Skye would giggle.  Even after Natasha corrected them, Skye seemed to take a little joy at his mistakes and after a while Rogers seemed to relax enough to do it on purpose.

            “Alright, good. Now switch.”

            Fitz stepped on his foot and then tripped over Simmons. “What?”  Simmons caught him, grimacing from the force of his step. “Sorry,” he whispered. She gave him a smile and squeezed his shoulder once, but she still stepped back.

            Skye appeared right in front of him before he had a chance of figuring out what happened. “Ready?” She took his hand in hers and put her other on his shoulder. He tried to give a smile as he took up his position, but he kept glancing at their feet. Stepping on Simmons’ was one thing – they bumped into each other all the time in the lab – but with Skye, he didn’t want to hurt (or make too big of a fool of himself).

            The music started up again and Natasha continued her warpath around the room. Fitz tried, he really did try, not to step on Skye’s feet too many times. But every second he didn’t’ spend concentrating on here they were going next, he’d spend it looking at his feet. Skye took it in stride, smiling and even returning the favor after one particularly stupid mistake of his.

            He caught glances of Simmons and Rogers together, smiling at something. She appeared to be explaining something to him, but they were talking softly.  Rogers didn’t look like he was just being polite, though Fitz couldn’t decipher it from this distance what the man was saying.

            “Hey,” Skye said. His eyes flicked back to her. She’d caught him staring at the other two. “You keep wandering off like that you’ll break one of my toes.”

            “Sorry,” he said. He managed to return her smile, though he struggled with meeting the emotion behind it. “I…” The words weren’t coming to him, but he still managed to smile.

            “Hey, relax. It’s a lot better than PT, right?”

            He agreed, “yeah, but who’s idea was it?”

            “Who do you think?” Skye motioned with her head toward the other pair.

            “Rogers?”

            “Really? After the way she goes on about you, you think Steve thought this up?” Skye raised an eyebrow, staring him down. He slowed a bit and scoffed his feet on the hardwood.

            “No, but we don’t…we don’t…talk as much as we used to,” Fitz said. They worked, but the labs were so big. Much bigger than anything they really had before. Stark’s money paid for everything, or at least until Coulson finished working on whatever special project he wasn’t sharing with them.

            “Then fix that,” Skye offered the phrase like it would change everything happening to him.

            “How can I fix it? I don’t even know what’s wrong.” He shrugged. She pinched his shoulder, glaring at him.

            “You need to make an effort,” she said. “On everything.”

            He dropped her hand and waved at his entire body. “I do, I mean, I’m here.”

            “Yeah, because we dragged you out of the lab.”  Skye tried to keep him moving, but for once, his feet listened to him. “You need to try. Come to dinners with the rest of us. Get out a bit. Just…” Her voice trailed off as they danced, half waltzing half tripping their way through the steps. “Everyone was hit by this. You the hardest, but we all are outside our comfort.”

            “So what’s this about then? Why aren’t we back at the Playground, or umm….umm…”

            “Another building?” offered Skye. He nodded, and scrambled to enunciate his thought.

            “We’re SHIELD,” Fitz said, as if that answered everything. Maybe it did, because Skye stopped them mid step.

            “We are, but we need to rebuild.”

            “But, I’m not…I can’t…” he struggled with the words again, trying to keep up with all of this. No one told him anything about anything – he was left in the dark, left in his lab. Everyone tried to help, and really, they did, but right now, all he kept seeing was how far he still had to go.

            In the lab, under no one else’s eyes, his fingers never responded as they did. Half his heart nearly gave out because he was worried that the wings would falter; the other half didn’t want the pressure of success. He couldn’t get his hands to follow through all of the time, and his hands were just the start of it. The words were hard, if not harder to find. Talking in bits helped, being with others helped a bit more. They didn’t pressure him or coddle him. They left him alone to work.

            But it wasn’t enough.

            Skye kept talking like he hadn’t lost himself in thoughts of his failures. “Coulson is setting up shop somewhere. Bringing in a few new people, some other groups. We’re about ready to head out on our own.”

            “We’re not staying here?”

            “As much as we respect the SHIELD, we both need our distance.” Natasha’s voice startled him. He fell backwards, landing on his rear and jamming his hands into the hardwood floor. He stared at the ground as he rubbed the pain away from his hands. Their eyes were on him, and he couldn’t stand them watching him.

            “It was going to happen eventually,” Simmons said, appearing at his side. He glanced up at her but he tore his gaze away.

            “I know,” he said. “I know, but…”

            “Let’s just concentrate on you getting better,” Simmons said. She reached over to help him stand, but he wrenched his arm away from her.

            “I’m fine.” He muttered, ignoring the piteous looks from everyone. “I’m. Fine.”

            “You’re not. And that’s okay.” Natasha patted him shoulder, noticeable pauses between each touch.  She took a step back, tried to smile a bit. “We’re done for the day. You will need to be here at two tomorrow for our next lesson.” She nodded and stared at him for a moment.

            Fitz felt everyone’s eyes were on him, pitying him again, but he could only return the affirmative nod. The awkward moment passed and she left the room, leaving him with Simmons and Skye, and of course Captain America. He ignored them for the moment, even if Skye was standing right in front of him.

            Finally having enough of the silence and the awkwardness and the disappointment, Fitz waved to them and said, “I-I-I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walked toward the door, ignoring Simmons calling his name. He entered the elevator, which thankfully was still on this floor. JARVIS didn’t even need prompting to take him up to the floor where all of the agents were stashed.

Fitz left the elevator slower than he got on it. His limbs dragged along and he struggled to order them to move properly. He hadn’t expected to expend so much energy dancing or all thing, but somehow Natasha forced him through the motions. It may work out after all, and he had said he’d be back, so now he was required to show up for the therapy session again.

            Skye was right, about having to try more. But right now, he couldn’t handle them all staring at him. He collapsed on his bed with the thought, wanting nothing more than to sleep for the rest of the day, the week. Maybe tomorrow, he’d get a handle of it, maybe he’d be able to figure it out. But not without taking it one step at a time.

            Seems he did learn something from therapy after all.


	5. Ironman talks about water

That was the beginning of the end.

            Fitz never had another physical therapy session with Natasha, despite her statement. Coulson came back, and after a heated discussion (Fitz wasn’t there, but he took solace in that neither were Skye or Simmons), the decision was made to leave the tower. SHIELD was ready to get up and running, and whatever Coulson (and May apparently) went off to work on succeeded, at least in his mind.

            Natasha and Clint disappeared soon after that, leaving him with only a note to continue with his physical therapy, or else. He put in the time, but his fingers seemed to be failing him even as people around him started acting more and more cautious. Whatever steps forward he took before, he stumbled backward toward the beginning.

            The brain damage finally started to appear, and with it, his confidence disappeared. Words may have been easy when people didn’t provoke him or demand his time, but now that SHIELD started to move forward, that’s all anyone did.

            “It’s the...uh…uh…uh…,” Fitz snapped his fingers as he tried to find the word.  “The-the…”

            “- the calibrations.” Simmons finished for him.

            “Yes, the calibrations. We need to tune into…into…” Fitz held up his hand toward her before she could interrupt him. Again. “Shush. Just shush.”

            “Fitz, it’s okay.” She gave him that look again, the pitying one.

            “Please. Just go.” Fitz looked up from the pieces lying on the lab table. They’d sequestered here since Coulson set up shop in this warehouse or whatever the hell this place was.  He tried to get back that feeling of success, when his hands listened, and sometimes they did. But when they didn’t work. Noting was working any more.

            Fixing the wing suit, working in the tower, he felt like he belonged, like was contributing. Now, back with SHIELD, fully enveloped in everything SHIELD was trying to accomplish, those successes meant little. And with each attempt, each failure, those steps forward he made, they didn’t matter anymore.

All that really mattered was figuring out the cloaking for their ships. It’s all anyone wanted out of him or any of the other scientists. They kept discussing it, and sometimes he’d catch them discussing him. Not in front of him obviously, but they’d do it often. Even Simmons fell into the habit, and he really couldn’t take her pity. Not anymore.

            “Wow…” Fitz fumbled the mechanical pieces in his hand. They didn’t drop, but he felt just as foolish if they had. “You really look like shit.”

            Tony Stark stood in their lab, smiling like he belong there. Fitz wondered if Coulson called him in to consult on this, like the man had with other SHIELD projects. The best mechanical and computer engineer on the planet, of course Coulson would ask him to solve the problem. Especially when he couldn’t do the work.

            “What are you doing here?” Fitz asked. He placed the component on the desk. It rocked a little as he drew his hands away from it before it quickly settled.

            “Figured you needed one more talk,” Stark said as he slipped between the tables and desks.

            Fitz found the words to the question after a few moments: “Does the Director know you’re here?”

            “Agent? Nah,” Stark said with a shake of his hand. “Besides, what’d he do? Taser me?”

            “Well…yeah.” Fitz nodded. The thought seemed rather accurate, and with how serious Coulson was taking everything right now, it seemed possible if not probable the Director might do something worse.

            Stark waved off the concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before he gets back.” He kept moving between the tables and laboratory equipment. “Now, we’re going to skip the mushy-feely, emotion divulging part of this conversation, kay?”

            Fitz stared at the man, trying to figure out where he was going with this and what words he could use to explain this to him. “Okay…”

            “Great,” Stark said, smiling wide at him. The beeping of a machine distracted Fitz for a moment. Stark took that time to snatch the pad out of his hands. Fitz’s fingers flexed a couple of times, grasping at the air where the pad had been. “What do we have here?”

            “I’ve – I’ve got it,” Fitz said.

            “Cloaking, very nice. Energy problem, but it looks like… Still, that could work…yeah, yeah, that looks pretty damn good.” Stark read through several pages, flicking his finger over the screen. “Yeah, you do.” He handed back the pad. “If you ever want a job out of SHIELD, give me a call.”

            “What?” The man jumped from parts of the conversation, like electricity arcing across live wires.

            “So, like I said, anyone ask – we did the feeling crap first, right? Not that they would know.” Stark pointed around the lab in random directions. “Cameras are set up on a loop, and will be until I leave. Now, don’t worry. JARVIS will let me know if some things amiss.”

            “What?” Fitz shook his head, still trying to figure out what the man was doing here. Did he miss a part of the conversation? That happened, and usually, he could play it off, but not for this conversation.

            “Sorry, I forgot.” Stark sat down on a stool that he pulled from somewhere. He pointed to his head as he kicked another stool toward him.

            “Among other things.” Fitz grabbed it to stop it from falling, and potentially knocking over something expensive or important or both. “So, why-why are you here?”

            “I wanted to know how you’re…” He waved at Fitz. The man seemed to struggle as much with words as he did, though probably for different reasons.  “But then I’m doing my best to be polite and not hold my nose.”

            “What?” Fitz asked, for the third time, but probably not the last for this conversation.

            “Not making this easy kid, are you?” Stark ran a hand over his face, wiping off the smirks and playboy image. Fitz could only stare at him, surprised to see how old Stark really looked. “When I got out of the desert, all I could think about was a bath. Except…that didn’t work out too well for me.”

            “I…I...didn’t know,” Fitz said.

            “No one does, well, Pepper, but only because she pulled my ass out of the shower.” Stark shrugged his shoulders and gave him a smile that never reached his eyes. The same eyes that kept staring over Fitz’s shoulder at some space on the wall. “I…I made it through of all of that stuff because of her.”

            Fitz wanted to say he’d make it through because of Jemma too. That she helped him get better, getting over this block he now dealt with every day. Speaking would be easier, thinking easier. Everything was easier…if Jemma was here.

            “But I wasn’t…it took me the better part of like four years to really get my act together. Not that she didn’t help along the way, but it started there, with someone seeing it. Seeing that I wasn’t coping.”

            “I…Jem-Simmons left,” Fitz said. That was the first time he spoke those words. Find

            “So?”

            “So? She was supposed to help me.” He turned his focus to Stark’s shoes. He hunched over, gripping and pulling his hair. “She-she-she just left and I…I…Urggh!” He tore his hands from his hair, nearly ripping some of it from his scalp. Stark sat there, silence as a grave. Around them, Fitz could hear the machines still working, others tapping away at keyboards or swiping on tablets. The other noises of the building filled up the empty space of Tony Stark not talking.

            Finally, after Fitz alternated between fidgeting on the stool (nearly knocking himself off it) and awkwardly staring at him, Stark spoke. “Pepper may have pulled me out of that shower, but I pulled myself up. So, I think you have to ask: What do you want to do about it?”

            “You didn’t lose your in-int-intellect. Your skills. You. You didn’t lose you.” The stool fell to the ground as Fitz stood, not quite screaming, but their conversation couldn’t really be considered private any more. “I can’t…I can’t…I just can’t.”

            “Kid, with that attitude, you never would have gotten out of that box.” Stark stared him down, angry brown eyes glaring at him. They sat in silence again, awkward moments passing by awkward seconds. Fitz looked away, unable to keep up his own anger. Instead, the swell of shame he felt every time his hands refused to listen returned. “Again, what do you want to do about it?”

            “I want to get better,” he admitted in a small voice. “But I don’t know how.” He was so much better at the Tower, but he wasn’t an Avenger, and now, he was barely an agent of SHIELD.

            “Okay. Good. I can work with that,” Stark said. His eyes still held that anger, but he seemed to be relaxing a little. Fitz tried to do the same, tried to unclench his fist, but they remained balled up at his side. Instead, he just pressed his fists into his thighs as he focused on breathing evenly. “Then start with one toe in the tub.”

            “What?”

            “Start small, make some small changes first. So start with a toe in the toe, then the foot, then both feet, and so on an so forth. Eventually, you’ll have to sit down in the water. Maybe you’ll get to the point where you can submerge yourself for a little bit. Then maybe things will be better.”

            “And what if I can’t? What if I can’t…get back into the tub?” Fitz wasn’t sure if they were talking literally or not, but rather than admit it, he figured the pharse was apt either way.

            “Then you tried.And to paraphrase Mister Radcliffe, no one can make fun of your then.”

            “Who?”

            “You know? Daniel Radcliffe.” Fitz shook his head at the mention of the name. “Harry Potter.” Stark said in the name in almost passable accent, but really, it stil was only slightly better than Skye’s. “The-Boy-Who-Lived. Killed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Come on you know this, and…you’re just fucking with me.”

            “Yeah,” Fitz said. He had tried to keep a straight face, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. No one would believe him, but he’d know.

            “Good, then you’re up for physical therapy then,” Stark said with a bit of a mad gleam in his eye.

            “I…I guess,” Fitz said, slightly startled by the change in the direction of the conversation.

            “I’ll let Natasha know.” Stark stood from his seat. He patted Fitz on the shoulder, giving a little bit of a manic smile. “She’s been dying to hear about how you’ve been getting on.”

            “No, wait-”

            It was too late. Stark was already walking out of a doorway. Fitz thought about running after the genius, but in the end, Natasha probably already knew. Around him, the signs of others approaching seemed to fill up the other hallways, growing louder as Stark’s own footfalls grew softer. Fitz stood from his seat and moved to the equipment he had left laying out before heading back to his quarters.

            Stark was right about one thing: he really did need to bathe, and maybe it would be best to start with just one toe.  Once at his quarters, he found a note resting on his bed in a nearly illegible scrawl. Well, two different, equally bad writing.

            _Complete your therapy. – N (Or no more pizza – C)_

            Of course Stark wasn’t the only one who snuck in here. He’d have to tell Coulson, though, and a quick sniff of his body confirmed it, after a shower. OR a bath. Yeah, a bath would be easier to deal with first. Bath, talk to Coulson about the note, then work on the cloaking.

            With a plan in mind, he headed toward the bathroom, ignoring the few stares of some of the agents moving about the complex. There weren’t a lot, but at least having a plan made ignoring them easier to deal with, and less painful. And Simmons never showed up in the bathroom, which certainly made everything a little bit easier.


	6. Fitz gave Jemma a push

            After Stark’s brief and caustic visit, Fitz tried to do better. Working in the lab didn’t help, well, at least not right away. He did his best to work out the cloaking, and eventually, Mack, another mechanical engineer, tried to help. The man didn’t make fun of him, or rush him. Instead, he helped work through the blips in his brain. Things weren’t close to where they had been, but they were certainly the best since leaving Stark Tower. He even managed to get most of the cloaking problems solved, well, almost, but he was a lot closer than he had been before.

            Then things got a little crazy, what with the Bus almost exploding, Simmons being a spy in HYDRA, Coulson going a little crazy, Simmons trying to work with him again, Skye finding out more about her father, and Simmons. His mixed feelings manifested in ignoring her, but everyone kept pushing to at least talk with her. Rather hard to do when they worked in the same lab. Instead, he spent as much time as he could in the hanger, working with Mack on the various projects he got assigned.

            “Tony Stark is full of shit.” Fitz looked up to see a tall, very tall, blond man, built like a house, standing next to Lola.  He peered into her, looking conflicted over touching it or not. It took him a moment to place the face as the same one there when he woke up – Captain America, also known as Steve Rogers.

            “What?” Fitz stared at him. Where the hell did the Avengers keep coming from? And how did they keep sneaking in here?

            “You totally have flying cars,” he said, pointing at Lola. “Looks like Howard got it working.”

            “That is Howard Starks’s car?” Fitz got up from his spot at the desk, leaving behind the blueprints on a new ballistics armor. Rogers nodded, holding his hand just above the door before dropping it back at his side. Fitz walked out of the Bus to where Rogers stood

            “Yeah, I mean, I was expecting more of them, and really everywhere, but hey, at least that is one science fiction dream come true,” Rogers said. He gave the car one more look before turning back to Fitz. “I had to talk with the Director about a few things, sorry if I interrupted your work. I just had to see if the rumors were true.”

            “No, I mean, well you did, but it’s not a big deal,” Fitz waved off the apology, though it kind of felt good. “What were you going to talk to Coulson about?”

            “We’ve got some leads on Hydra and I wanted to coordinate with him on it,” Rogers said. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck before offering a sheepish smile. “That and check up on him.”

            “Him?” Normally people looked in on him, not the Director. Admittedly, the man did seem to lose it with the drawings for a while, but he seemed fine now. 

            “Yeah.” Rogers didn’t offer much else, either because he didn’t know or was being discrete. They stood in silence, with Rogers still admiring the car.

            “I’m doing better,” Fitz said. “You can tell the others.”

            “Tell them what?” Rogers’ brow furrowed at the statement.

            “That I’m doing better. They don’t need to keep checking up on me.” Rogers finally turned to look at him completely.

            “I didn’t know they had,” Rogers said, and Fitz believed him. Maybe it was because the guy was Captain America, or that he simple was that honest, but he believed him. “None of them mentioned any of that to me, but I’m glad you’re doing better. If you want, I can tell them to lay off?”

            “No. No, they…they’re helping a bit.” Fitz scratched the back of his neck before glancing away. “I’m just…it’s hard to…” He let out a frustrated sigh, but Rogers let him have it. The man silently stood there, not pressuring him, but somehow forcing him to deal with it. “I’m not who I was.”

            “None of us are,” Rogers said, grinning just a bit. “But we all managed. Just takes time.”

            “I don’t think time’s going to fix…” Fitz motioned toward himself, causing Rogers to bark out a laugh.

            “It took me nearly eighty years so I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. “Not that it’s the same, but you know what I mean,”

            “Yeah,” Fitz shrugged his shoulders. It really wasn’t even close, but everyone tried to give him some example, something similar. Maybe all it really came down to was just taking some time to adapt.

            “Fitz, did you – oh, Steve, I didn’t – what brings you here?” Both of them turned to look at Jemma as she walked into the hanger, presumable to ask Fitz for an update. Again. Their entire friendship was now boiled down to – awkward conversations and things not being said. It was made even worse by other people being there, and well, they just tended to ignore each other unless it was absolutely necessary. Jemma kept trying to talk to him about it, and he just couldn’t deal with it, not with everything go on or about to happen.

            “He was checking up on Coulson,” Fitz said, blurting it out. Rogers flushed an impressive shade of red as Jemma kept glancing between the two of them.

            Rogers motioned to the car, somehow managing a small smile even through his embarrassment. “Well, I also came to see Lola.”

            “She is rather impressive,” Jemma said, “though you could have asked me about Coulson. Given that I am somehow this team’s doctor, even without a proper medical degree, I could have offered you an update. Actually, I couldn’t, what with doctor-patient confidentiality. He’s fine, though, doing much better.”

            “Yeah, seems like everyone is getting a bit better,” Rogers said. His grin softened, even as Jemma now flushed in embarrassment.  “I heard about your little escapade as well.”

            “Well, I was…it was an official mission – how did you know about that?” She managed to get out. Fitz stared at her as she spoke, trying to figure out where his friend went. Normally, she was able to talk just about anyone under the table, debate them to death on a multitude of topics.

            “My clearance level is still active,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Seems I can’t get away from SHIELD.” He gave them a bit of a sad smile, and Fitz struggled to figure out what that meant. Jemma, however, grasped on whatever was wrong immediately. She reached out, touching him gently on the arm. Her fingers wrapped around his larger arm, not even encompassing it. Fitz stared at the connection, shuffling in place as the two of them ignored him in favor of whatever passed between them.

            “Steve, we’re trying to do better,” she spoke in a soft voice, not quite a whisper but certainly something only for Rogers to hear, except Fitz still stood right next to them. Watching them, his heart constricted a little, tightening in his chest in a metaphorical manner. It relaxed after a moment, even with Rogers and Jemma still staring at each other. Before this, before he lost what made him him, he dreamt of Jemma looking at him like that, part wonder, part something else.

            But it wasn’t like that. Life was no fairy tale, or some religious icon demanding attention. Nothing was magic, just really complicated science if that. Their entire relationship boiled down to his chemical reactions not firing in a similar way to Jemma’s.  Not relational incompatibility, but simply emotional – he felt, or experienced his perception of her differently than she did of him. This disparity rocked him, and he didn’t have anyone to talk to this about, or at least had no clue of the disparity before their little trip to the bottom of the ocean.

            “Right, well, that is all we can do sometimes.” Rogers offered a half-hearted smile, his lips only tilting a little upward. He reached up, to run a hand over his face. As he did, he pulled the smile off, revealing a serious look with sadness lingering. “I’ve got to head out. Fitz, glad you’re doing better.” He held out his hand to Fitz, who took it without thought. A solid shake later and Rogers let go. “I’ll tell the others to back off a bit.”

            Fitz shook his head, “no. No, its okay, I…It helped a bit.” Rogers smiled at this, and Jemma still stared at him like he metaphorically hung the stars or something. Fitz flexed his fingers, and tried to clamp down the urge to yell at them. He shuffled in place as Jemma just stood there, her gaze never moving from Rogers. He still bite his tongue a little, letting the slight pain ground him for a bit.

            “Then I’m glad, though I doubt Coulson will like it if we keep popping in here unannounced.” Rogers stepped back, not offering to shake Jemma’s hand. He offered her another smile, and just as awkward as Jemma was when she saw him, she returned it. Rogers stepped backwards a few times, then turned to walk away with a wave over his shoulders. He left them there both watching him, and Fitz shuffled his feet, coughed, even nudged Jemma once to break the awkward silence.

            Finally, she turned back to look at him. Her cheeks were enflamed, and her lips tried to offer a smile, but they froze halfway there. “That was…unexpected.”

            Fitz raised an eyebrow and stared at her.

            “Well, it was, Fitz,” Jemma said. Her face was still red, flush from either embarrassment or something else. “I hardly expected to see him again, let alone here.”

            “Do you…” His voice trailed off. He knew they would only be an ex-maybe. Maybe he did love her, maybe she loved him, but now, the weight of everything pressed them apart. Little remained to draw them across this chasm.

            “What? No. I mean, he is incredible attractive,” Jemma said. Her hand brushed a strand of hair out of her face, even as the other played with the padd she brought with her.

            “I can bloody see that,” Fitz said.

            “But I’ve barely talked with him –“

            “Since we got back. But before when I was in my…when I was asleep, you talked a great deal to him,” Fitz said. She kept her lips pursed, but turned to stare out the doorway. “It’s okay.”

            “What?” Those brown eyes he wanted to stare at him finally centered on him, but instead of love, he saw confusion and compassion.

            “It’s okay…to like him,” Fitz managed to get out. The words needed to be said, needed to be aired. “It’s okay…not to…I’m okay.”

            “Fitz, what are you talking about?” Jemma stepped closer to him.

            Fitz drew a deep breath, and tried to gather his thoughts enough to present a coherent sentence. She deserved it. They deserved it. “I’m not who I was…I don’t…I can’t run the lab with you.” He shook his head, trying to block out the little bit of pain now in her eyes. “I can’t run the lab. Not anymore. I don’t think I could handle it. Not right now.”

            “Fitz, you’re so much better. You’ve come so far and I don’t know…I want you there Fitz,” Jemma said. She reached down, dropping the padd to the floor, grasping his hands in hers. Her fingers tightened around his, trying to pull him toward her, but he stood firm. His feet remained planted, his physical therapy finally approaching being declared worthwhile.

            “We’re not – it’s changed between us. We’re not the same,” Fitz said. “Things changed for us and maybe we could have…been. But things changed and I don’t…I’m not who I was and you’re not who you were. I don’t think I could make you happy like I should. Not anymore.”

            “I thought…I wanted it to be you.” Tears looked ready to fall, and he wanted to hug her, and take everything back. It would be easier to go on ignoring everything, to go on pretending things were okay, except they were everything but. His health and mental acuity continued to improve, and working in the hanger with Mack

            “Me too, but well, as the song goes: You can’t always get what you want -”

            “-but if you try sometimes you find you get what you need,” Jemma finished it, singing along just a little.  They both smiled, memories of singing together rather off-key in the lab or while studying, finishing songs the other started. “You’re not-”

            “Upset? No, I am, but I want - I need you to be happy, and I don’t think I could do that,” Fitz admitted. They stood together, the moment no longer awkward, as a comfortable silence fell around time for the first time since he woke up from that deep sleep.

            “So, if I wanted to, I could call him? Maybe?” Jemma asked. She let go of his hands to push a strand of hair out of her face.

            “I think…” Fitz took another deep breath, and tried to control the anger still festering within him. He wanted to be the one she called, who could make her look that beautiful and vulnerable with just the thought of him. But he wasn’t, and that was okay. This wasn’t any bullshit about a ‘friendzone’ or anything. She loved him, and he loved her, but they wouldn’t be ‘in love.’ Not now, and maybe they never would have. And he could live with that.

            “I think he would like that a lot,” Fitz finally said. “I think you should take that chance.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Jemma said. A smile, a true, wonderful smile bloomed on her face. She rushed at him, giving him a tight hug. He stumbled back a bit, but held onto his gorund. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed just as hard back. “I missed you.” She whispered.

            “I missed you too.” He pulled back a bit, prompting her to lean back but not let go. “And I’ll be okay, just…”

            “Need some more time,” Jemma finished for him.

            “Yeah, but it’ll be okay.”

            “We’ll be okay,” Jemma said. She let got, taking a step back. “We may not be the same, but I think we’ll be stronger.” She gave him another smile and he had to return it. “Ready to get back to work?”

            “Yes ma’am,” he said. “Everything’s prepped for our trip to San Juan?”

            It wasn’t the end of the story, not for them. Fitzsimmons wouldn’t ever end up as the fairy tale he dreamt of once upon a time, but they would be okay. Things kept changing, and although he adapted slowly, too slowly, he adapted to them nonetheless. Jemma wouldn’t ever be his, ever join him in bed, but she was still his. Fitzsimmons they were and they would always be. Just in a different form is all, and he could live with that.


End file.
